


Haunted

by WickedSong



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, team feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedSong/pseuds/WickedSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was so pale, so limp, so lifeless, and it's all he can think about, but she is not a ghost yet. Post-T.R.A.C.K.S.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer/Note: I do not own AoS. I think we can all agree this show is taking a level in badass and taking it quite quickly. The episode on Tuesday has left me ridiculously emotional on all the team levels and so I wanted to do something sort of drabbly that featured all of them dealing with the events of the episode. Obviously spoilers for T.R.A.C.K.S. so do not read further if you haven't seen it and want to remain unspoiled.

He punches the bag pretending that it’s Ian Quinn’s face. It takes a jab to the right, one to the left, and an upper cut to wipe the satisfied smirk he imagines him wearing – the one he  _did_  wear when he all but confessed.

The more he punches his frustrations out the more they multiply, the impact of every punch resounding in the cargo bay. He thinks he sees her, behind the bag holding it up for him, or watching him, and asking (really teasing) if that’s really the best he can do. But it’s not her – it can’t be her.

 _She’s_  barely breathing in a cryo-chamber in the lab behind him and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

For a moment Quinn’s face morphs into Coulson’s and he still hits the bag with the same intensity before realising his mistake.

_Mistake?_

He knows the system inside and out, knows he can’t fall to resentment or blame. But did Coulson make her this way? Did she do this to impress their leader? To show that she was worthy of whatever he said to make her more determined, more of an Agent. Isn’t that what he was meant to be doing, as her SO, in the first place?

He begins hitting the bag once more, not quite sure of anything anymore, not sure whether it’s Quinn or Coulson he’s really angry at, – and not caring.

* * *

Jemma works her way around the lab as if everything is breakable. The weight of the world – Skye’s life – weighs on her shoulders and she’s not sure if she can carry the burden. She’s been strong – only breaking down in the quiet moments she was alone or when Fitz was there to take the pressure from her – if only for a few moments.

Skye’s blood doesn’t linger on her hands – they linger on Ian Quinn’s – but he’s not the one tasked with keeping her alive and Jemma feels as if that makes her equally as culpable.

She hasn’t slept in the hours since it happened, still on course to a medical facility where someone might be able to do  _something_  more, but Jemma can swear she can hear her friend’s voice in her ear.

For a moment the feeling goes away but when a loud clatter comes from the opposite side of the lab and she hears Fitz swear – louder and more colourful swears than a few disassembled weapon parts should cause him – she realises she’s not the only one being haunted.

He picks the pieces up from the ground and tries to put them together; quiet once more; regretting his outburst in the peaceful silence of the lab and not looking at Jemma, who works diligently behind him – both of them trying not to disturb Skye.

If he doesn’t look at her, he can just pretend she’s sleeping, and she’s going to wake up in a few hours and it’s all going to fine, because when has it ever not been  _fine_  in the end.

Pretending helps – just a little.

* * *

You never expect it and you never see it coming.

Melinda’s been a SHIELD agent long enough. She’s lost enough friends and acquaintances and even colleagues she didn’t like very much to the system. She thought she was immune to the pain by now and maybe that was her first mistake.

But there’s a sharp sadness that engulfs her whenever she thinks of Skye – lying in the chamber downstairs – like some sort of modern-day Snow White. Melinda sneers, almost growls, at the thought, that an innocent person could be purged into such darkness by a rich asshole with a gun.

She’s been on the receiving end of bullets in her time, but she’s not been innocent for a long time and that’s the difference.

Going as fast as she can, she’s determined to rid the thoughts from her mind and goes faster. If she’s flying, she’s not in the interrogation room. If she’s not in the interrogation room, she’s not tempted to rip Ian Quinn to pieces.

If she looks over to the seat beside her, she can almost imagine everything’s normal and that Skye’s sitting there, looking out into the world below her.

But she’s not there. The thought only pushes May to go faster.

* * *

Mourning is for those who have already left and yet he sits in the dim light of his office, feeling as if that is what he should be doing - what he should be preparing for.

She was so pale, so limp, so lifeless, and it’s all he can think about, but she is not a ghost yet.

 _She won’t ever be_ , Phil tells himself. He’ll give his life, his  _second_  life, whatever attempt at a life this is, if it means that she can have hers.

He looks at the door, willing it to open, willing her to be behind it, calling him AC and telling him that they’ve made a break in some case or that Fitzsimmons have set something else on fire in the lab and that he should probably talk to them about trying not to do that –  _again_.

She’s kind and she’s sweet and she’s the daughter he’ll never get to have. He’s never admitted that – thought it would make things too hard if they got too serious, too real.

She’s in the lab below him and she’s dying and he knows that this is as real as it gets.


End file.
